


Without asking why

by KendraPendragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: It started out as a test of her devotion, but over time these three words became so much more, for both of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I think this could have been a big, multi-chapter fic, but my brain couldn't work up more than this. Hope you still like it. If so, I might do a follow-up. Because there is one more 'without asking why' that is dancing around in my mind...

It started out small. Four months into their acquaintance, Sherlock requested a male head via text.

_Without asking why…_

Mostly out of boredom, but part of him wanted to see how far she would go. She did go that far.

Almost another four months passed, then Molly asked him to stay at Barts for her night shift.

_Without asking why…_

It became a thing between them. At first, only like a whispered secret children share in the blanket fort at a sleepover, the requests were small, simple, sometimes funny even.

_Finally, after circling the premises of the bakery for the fourth time, he sees her. She jumps out of the back window, only wearing her white knickers, the rest of her clothes and her bag pressed to her front, her body covered in flour, her hair in wild disarray with pieces of dough stuck in it. Shoes are flying out of the window next and she slips into them as quickly as possible. Hunched over she hurries over to the waiting car and jumps in. As instructed, Sherlock had tossed the picnic blanket in the trunk of her car over her seat. One hand on the steering wheel, he looks at her expectantly._

“ _Not a word”, she only says. And then a smile grows on her lips and a giggle escapes her as she rests her arm on the door and looks at the bakery, her teeth nibbling at her knuckles._

_His eyes glide over her dishevelled, half naked form, many questions in his head. But this is not their unspoken agreement. So he turns the car around and drives her back to her place._

_He lets her in with the spare key she gave him and she thanks him with one of those smiles that confuse him._

_There is an urge to rub a spot of flour from her shoulder, so he leaves, making a mental note that apparently Molly Hooper is a sex adventuress._

* * *

Over time, this ‘without asking why’ became bigger.  
  
_He smells of chlorine when he enters her house. For the first time she sees him exhausted and tired and instantly, she worries. Before she can say anything, though, ask him if there is something she can do, he tells her. He doesn’t meet her eyes, looks at a spot left from her shoulder instead, his jaw clenching._

“ _Without asking why,” he starts and her heart skips a beat, “let me stay the night.”_

_Her eyes widen, she forgets to breathe. At first she thinks that he’s here to…but no. No, of course not. He is exhausted. This is not what he needs tonight. Or ever. Not from her._

_Hiding the blush filling her cheeks she nods and leads the way into her bedroom. She attempts to get new sheets to change the bed when he enters the room, his coat gone, probably hanging on the rack in the hallway. Is eyes are fixed on her flowery sheets as he slips out of his shoes and shrugs out of his suitjacket._

“ _Let me change the sheets. It’ll only take a minute.”_

“ _No.”_

_He doesn’t look at her. Instead he climbs into her bed, rolls onto the side she had slept on a few minutes ago, and throws the blanket over him, disappearing completely except for a bit of black curls sticking out._

_Molly stands there for a moment, sheets in hand, and listens to him fall asleep. He’s out almost immediately, his regular breathing giving it away._

_She worries. She wants to know what happened. But she knows she mustn’t. So with an inward sigh she picks up his suit jacket and leaves the room, turning off the light, leaving the door ajar. She doesn’t really know why. Maybe it’s her way of telling him that he is not alone, that she is right there in the living room, sleeping on the couch._

_By the time she wakes up, he is already gone, not a trace left except the smell of him and chlorine in her sheets._

* * *

After this incident, neither demanded anything of the other for a while. The better they knew each other, the less it was necessary. But when it became necessary, the impact it had on them was much more severe.

_  
Sherlock sits completely still as she draws his blood. His eyes are unfocused, staring at the floor. His pulse beneath her finger is strong and steady. A few hours ago John has pressed his fingers to this spot, feeling nothing._

_How badly she wants to say something, anything, that might ease the pain. But she knows there is nothing worth saying. It has been done. Sherlock has jumped off this very roof to save his friends, his family. And he will leave…_

_Tears blur her vision, so Molly hastens to finish the task and turns away, carrying the sample of his blood to the desk, walking past the doppelgaenger waiting on the slab for the autopsy. She can’t look at him. Not yet, while the original is still in her morgue._

_After labelling and storing the sample she wipes the tears out of the corners of her eyes. She doesn’t want to make this harder for him. She will make it as easy as possible to leave. Gathering her inner strength with a deep breath she turns around – and almost breaks._

_Sherlock is still sitting on the chair, his sleeve rolled up, staring at the floor. He looks so small and devastatingly sad. Something inside her happens then. Somehow, she manages to be strong. For him. She walks over and carefully rolls down his sleeve, biting her bottom lip as she tries to get the bloody button through the hole._

_After this is done she wants to get his suit jacket, but his long fingers curl around her wrist. Molly turns back to him, both being almost the same height now. His eyes are a pale blue now. His fingers move to her pulse point and he presses down, feeling her blood flow through her body. Molly wants to reach out to him so badly…_

“ _Without asking why…”_

_Sherlock doesn’t finish the sentence. Only long silence. Then his eyes look up and she shivers. He pulls at her wrist and suddenly she is standing between his legs, being pressed against his chest, and his mouth pushes firmly against hers. One second of surprise, confusion and disbelief, then she places her hands on his cool cheeks…and kisses him back. She swallows the urgency of his lips, endures the pressure on her teeth, and meets his desperate tongue tenderly with her own. His despair is slowly melted away by her deep, slow kisses. With this one kiss, she tells him everything: That he is not alone. That he is strong enough. That he will succeed. That John will forgive him. That he will come back. That he will once again be the consulting detective, living at 221b Baker Street, London. And that she…that she always will…_

_When they part, Molly wipes a tear off his cheek, unsure if it is his or hers. His eyes are red and fully dilated, only a light blue ring left. They look at her as they share the same breath. She caresses his cheek with her fingers and rests her forehead against his, closing her eyes._

“ _I will look after him. I promise.”_

_Almost desperately Molly tries to memorize how it feels to be in his arms, to have his warmth surrounding her, to feel his strong heartbeat against her breast and his hot breath on her lips. It’s heaven. She wants to die right here. With him. So he’s not alone. She swallows down the lump in her throat and opens her eyes, trying a smile when she finds him looking back._

_One last, ever so tender kiss. Then they part, returning to the cold reality._

_Sherlock stands up and puts on his suit jacket, coat and scarf, takes a deep breath and flips up his collar. Molly tilts her head and smiles. Sherlock Holmes…_

“ _Goodbye, Molly.”_

_She can't answer, so she nods, bravely fighting her tears until he is gone, his taste lingering on her tongue and his warmth still on her skin._

* * *

  
Two long years, then he was back. And once again, they changed. He was different, so was she. She was engaged to another man. She tried not to notice the look in his eyes as he wished her well in the hallway of the train nerd. But his eyes, oh, those haunting, unique eyes. She still loved them. And God help her, him. She couldn’t marry Tom. He’s a good man and didn’t deserve a wife that would always have a part of her heart filled with another man.

_  
Sherlock raises a surprised eyebrow when he finds Molly on the other side of the front door. It’s past 2am. The eyebrow sinks when she lifts her head. She has been crying._

“ _Without asking why”, she simply says, her voice sounding weak and shaky. His chest tightens for a second and anger flares up in him as the mental image of ‘Meat Dagger’ pops up. Clenching his jaw, he nods and steps aside. Soundlessly she slips past him and trots up the stairs. He takes his time closing the door, fighting down the urge to run out and punch that idiot._

_When he has reached living room, his eyes dart to the couch – and find it empty. Another feeling spreads in his chest. All of a sudden, he is really tired. Still, it takes a while to make up his mind. He listens to the sounds from the bathroom. Only after it has fallen quiet in his flat again (how he hates the silence) and the light shining beneath his bedroom door is turned off, he starts moving._

_He doesn’t even think about knocking._

_In the darkness, he shrugs off his dressing gown and climbs into bed. She feels so tiny next to him. Her warmth slowly reaches him. She smells of the chill London air and honey._

“ _Where’s John’s chair?” she asks, having her back to him._

_Another sting in his heart. This one is loneliness. Here, lying next to her, he can admit it. Swallowing down the bitterness, he rolls onto his side and drapes an arm around her. He pulls her against him until there is no inch of air between them. Her little hand comes to rest in his and their fingers intertwine. That’s when she starts to cry, softly, almost silent, her twitching shoulders giving it away. Sherlock pulls her closer and buries his head in her neck._

_He doesn’t know what to do. This is all so confusing. What he feels, wondering what she feels, being so close at times and at others so far away. It’s exhausting. A part of him wants to kiss her again, right now, but he dreads the repercussions this may have._

_He can’t lose Molly, too._

_Eventually, she cries herself to sleep and Sherlock is left alone with his thoughts and emotions. During this night, he memorizes her body. The soft texture of the skin of her hand, explored with caressing strokes of his fingers. The softness of her neck explored with his lips, her pulse by pressing a lingering kiss below her jaw. Her silky hair with his cheek and her body heat by holding her tight. He has never held another person like this, for this long. It’s surprisingly comfortable. Her warmth and her regular breathing are…comforting._

_Sherlock slips his fingers between hers again and closes his eyes, breathing in her scent and giving into sleep._

_Molly wakes him when she tries to disentangle herself._

“ _Pee”, she explains when he lifts his head. Her voice sounds rough from sleep. Sherlock lets her go, blinking. The shadows in his room tell him that it’s past noon. He rolls to the edge of the bed and sits up, running his hands through his curls. That’s when the doorbell rings. Normally he wouldn’t be bothered, but her scent is clinging to his clothes and skin and he doesn’t know how to feel about that; feel about this past night._

_So he stands up and grabs his dressing gown on the way out, a glance to the bathroom showing that Molly is standing at the sink._

‘ _Meat Dagger’._

_For a moment, he freezes. Guilt washes over him. Such a rare feeling, he hardly recognizes it._

_He has been crying._

“ _She’s here, isn’t she?”_

_He doesn’t meet his eyes, at first. But then he looks up and Sherlock can read his pain and…he feels sorry for the man. Sorry that he has been caught in this mess of...them._

_Footsteps behind them. Sherlock's heart beats faster. He keeps looking at the fiancé, watches the flash of pain as his eyes look behind him. Sherlock expects some sort of outburst. But nothing. He just stands there, waiting. Waiting for her._

_Molly passes Sherlock a few seconds later, her things in hand. As if she's known it would be him at the door. In the doorway, she doesn't meet Tom's eyes, but whispers "I'm sorry."_

_The expression in his eyes, this sadness...he truly loves her..._

_Frozen to the spot Sherlock watches how Tom strokes her arm and takes her hand. They leave together and there is nothing left for Sherlock to do but to close the door.  
_

* * *

 

After this, things went downhill. For both of them. Sherlock focused on Magnussen. This was what he could do: The Game. This was what he was good at - or he had thought so.  
How terribly wrong he had been. It cost him everything.

During this last night in a small cell at MI6, he stared at his phone for hours, trying hard to come up with something, anything, to say to her. A plausible lie. The problem was, though, they were long past lies. It was always the truth with Molly.

He couldn't. Couldn't tell her that he failed. That he had lost.

...That this was goodbye.

So he didn't. He said goodbye to John and Mary, but not to her.

And yet, after he shot up in the air plane bathroom, he could feel her in his arms. His head was full of her when the life-saving call came. He would continue to be Sherlock Holmes.

For a while, life was good. There were cases and friends, and Molly. Single. They joked and laughed and experimented. They were Sherlock and Molly.

There was no 'without asking why' needed when Mary died. Molly was there, consoling him and John while simultaneously taking care of Rosie. Always so strong, that Molly Hooper. Always. So strong that he failed to notice the toll it took on her. As usual he was so focused on himself that he forgot the fact that she, too, had lost a dear friend. He just invaded her home and spent the night whenever he needed to, curling around her, pulling her close, kissing her whenever he needed it. It made him feel good. It made her feel miserable.

He took all of her without giving back.

Sherlock never thought about their future. He actively ignored this thought in the back of his head that told him that this couldn't go on forever, that the day would come when Molly demanded his heart in return for hers. He preferred to think of it as a casual arrangement, some sort of friends with benefits kind of relationship. He pretended that all this cuddling and kissing wasn't emotionally draining for her. But the day came when he couldn't do this anymore.

As soon as he read those three words, he knew it was her. Molly. Molly Hooper. His insides churned and his head was spinning.

Molly.  
Not Molly.

"Molly Hooper."

His hands gripped the coffin. His legs felt wobbly all of a sudden.

His heart stopped beating when she popped up on the monitor. As soon as Eurus told him what his task was, he realized what he was asked to do. His mind was whiped clean. His cleverness wasn't good for anything. Not when Molly Hooper was involved.

Molly...

So he went there, knowing that this was the last time he would ever say it:

"Molly, without asking why..."

 

 

 


End file.
